Rest at last
I have been spinning for hours
at the touch of a fingertip
I believe it is a fever coming
perhaps a touch of the flu
please let me sleep a moment
The dings have become tiresome
they echo so loudly in my chambers
with the light so bright.
So much for my pause
no union fights my war
here come my regulars.
Sisters in crime, souls in learning
their eyes stare, wonder, ponder
will it be two, three, four, or more?
I have had enough of teas, coffees and corn
I want something else on my menu
what have they brought today?
Spaghetti? Lasagna? Oh No! ramen it is
how can they, how dare they?
don’t they know I was born in Michigan?!
They laugh, they giggle and chit-chat with the master
sitting on his throne like the tyrant of ages
a thumb comes, so close, too close, and…
There I go spinning again, humming my old tune
under the strobes my headache is back
if only I could reach the waves of the sea.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review and more than 350 other publications.